


The Fabulously Haired Science Squad

by sapphireswimming



Category: Gundam 00
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Gen Work, Gundam 00 Week 2016, Humor, Science, The Union (Gundam 00)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26414815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphireswimming/pseuds/sapphireswimming
Summary: Billy was doing important work for The Professor.
Relationships: Graham Aker & Billy Katagiri, Ralph Eifman & Billy Katagiri
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11928778/1/The-Fabulously-Haired-Science-Squad
> 
> Written for G00week's Day 3: Power Blocks / Future
> 
> I also need to acknowledge that this feat of utter ridiculousness has been a valiant team effort, so thank you to ninthfeather, who turned a few off the wall tumblr tags into a plot bunny; Laora, who helped me develop this premise until I was suddenly staring at a plot and part two; and dannyboymw, who made me laugh until I cried when we sketched out some of the later scenes

Billy knew that the life of a scientist consisted of long periods of waiting.

Waiting for test results to come back form the lab, waiting for other teams to complete their pieces of the puzzle so he could begin his, for the light bulb to go off over his head so that the jumbled figures staring up at him from the page finally reorganized themselves into some sort of order.

And that was when he were working with known factors and technology, that his country's premier minds have already investigated and written papers about. Looking into limited glimpses of technology that literally no one in the world had ever seen before, didn't understand, and most likely wouldn't even have believed possible if they hadn't seen it with their own eyes, made the situation even worse.

He thought he'd gotten used to the endless waiting in grad school, but with military officials pressing for answers every day and his brash best friend and his companions breathing down his neck every few hours wanting to know the secrets of the Gundams before anyone had yet discovered them made things impossible.

Billy was going stir crazy and he knew it. His own personal pot of coffee was emptied and remade and drained again like he subsisted purely off of the stuff. Half eaten donuts lay scattered on whatever surface had been nearest his latest makeshift workspace. But there was only so much he could stare at when he knew there wasn't enough information to make any hypotheses that were even worth investigating. And the ones he'd made thus far had all dead-ended rather spectacularly.

There was, frankly, nothing else that he could do. Nothing else to glean from the paint samples or the coating covering the internal wiring or the very mundane metal plating the military had recovered. Professor Eifmann had claimed the only interesting parts, the ones that might shed some light on the special light particles that they hypothesized powered the suits.

Eifmann refused to tell him anything about it, yet, though, despite his incessant questions and offers to help. He was his second in command, his trusted right hand man, his apprentice and underling since he'd attended university but still he wasn't considered important enough to be let into the secret, to help him make the breakthrough that the world needed weeks ago.

It hurt, not being entrusted with the task, and worse, it left him with infuriatingly little to do. Until Graham and his squad went out and brought back more than a couple twisted pieces of metal, there was nothing more for him to discover and he knew it.

But he couldn't… couldn't just leave. Not when everyone else all but lived on the base, not when the professor stayed until the middle of the night to examine his top secret data, and Graham rested at the foot of his Flag as if communing with it in the darkness of the hangar after everyone else had retired to the barracks.

So he stayed, flitting from table to counter, leafing through pages of notes that he'd long since memorized even if they didn't help him at all. Pacing between the door outside Eifmann's private office, his work station, and very occasionally the hangar where Graham chatted with his fellow pilots, raising an amused eyebrow every time Billy came downstairs with increasingly frazzled nerves.

He'd discovered it was generally best to avoid Graham at such times.

So he sat at his desk and flipped through some pages of the closest notebook, making a few quick calculations before crossing out first one part and then the other. He finally decided the page was best entirely scribbled out, then improved even further when it was ripped out, crumpled up, and tossed into the nearby pile of trash bin overflow.

He reached over for a bite of his donut— stale now— and grimaced before setting it back down. Chewing it stubbornly, he swallowed it with effort and blinked down at the blank page in front of him.

It stared up at him, the light blue lines taunting him with their emptiness, their downright refusal to ever be filled.

With a groan, Billy set his head down on the table.

A quiet chuckle from behind him had him swinging his head up so quickly that his hair whipped around to hit his face with a soft _thwack_.

Professor Eifmann walked forward and laid down a single sheet of paper in front of him, with just a few lines written out in the man's careful penmanship. A quick glance told Billy that it was some sort of chemical formula, incomplete, but nothing like anything he'd been working on thus far.

Was this… from The Professor's work on the Gundams? Had he stumbled across a completely revolutionary line of inquiry? Was that why everything Billy had thought to try had been so off base?

"Is this…?" he asked in awe, eyes flickering back and forth between the lines as his brain already started running through the new doors this could open.

The Professor just smiled. "It looked like you were in need of something to do," he replied. "So you can finish that," he said with a nod to the paper. "I haven't had time."

And then, before Billy had a chance to corner him to ask his thousand questions or press him for details, The Professor vanished back up to his study.

But knowing that he had something to work on now, an assignment from The Professor himself, no matter what it was, was more than enough reason for Billy to wipe the exhaustion from his mind and focus on the task at hand.

He buckled down with a will, hoping to figure it out immediately, but the incomplete pieces of the formula were more extensive than he'd originally envisioned and he had to backtrack several times to revise his opening hypotheses as he found out where he was starting from.

It wasn't until about an hour in that he realized the formulas were partly organic.

By the end of the night, he was sure that this sheet of paper didn't have anything to do with the Gundams or their impossible propulsion system. But he hadn't yet understood what it was supposed to be, so, once his eyes started blurring everything into double vision even with his glasses off, Billy decided it was high time to call it a night.

He dumped the remains of the donut into the trash and flicked off a light, but didn't dare straighten anything in case it left him blinking fruitlessly at his disjointed scribbles in the morning.

After a rare full night's asleep in his own apartment, he returned to work with a handful of books he hadn't need to reference since grad school, and a renewed vigor to tackle the mysterious formula The Professor had entrusted to his care.

He was sliding a massive chemical dictionary across his workspace when there was a knock on his doorframe. Billy turned belatedly to see Graham already walking toward him, coming to a stop close enough to look over his shoulder at the table which looked even more disastrous than usual.

"Good morning, Katagiri," he said.

Billy flicked one more glance over at him before returning to his text, flipping pages until he came to the entry he wanted.

When Graham realized that he wasn't going to get an explanation, or even an acknowledgement of his presence, he snorted and folded his arms across his chest.

"You haven't been downstairs yet today," he finally noted, trying to sound casually disinterested. Billy didn't say anything, so after he'd waited as long as he could stand, he asked, "So does this mean you've made progress on the Gundam front?"

"Not… since yesterday, no…" Billy replied distantly as he picked up a pen and made a quick notation in the margins of his notebook. He followed it up with a messily scrawled molecular formula before adding, "You haven't found anything new for me to be examining, have you?"

"No," Graham admitted with a grimace. "There hasn't been an opportunity."

"Well then it's not my fault, is it?" Billy asked, blindly reaching across his desk for his spiral bound notebook.

"No," Graham said, trying not to laugh. "But you are working on something," he said.

"Yes," Billy replied absently after a short pause where he flipped through several pages of hastily scribbled notations from the night before.

Graham was a patient man. He waited a full ten seconds before asking, "What is it?"

Billy hummed. "Not sure yet," he drew out, tapping the pen on his cheek. At the strangled noise his friend made, he added, "Something The Professor gave me."

"The Professor?"

"Yes."

Graham came around the table to get a better look at the papers spread across the table, and blinked to keep his eyes from crossing as he tried to decipher Billy's cramped pages of nonsensical notes.

Billy looked up at him with amusement. "Any theories?" he asked, as if his friend had any clue what any of this was.

Graham cleared his throat as he pulled back and shook his head. "But do you?" he threw back with a quick grin.

Billy scowled up at him before returning his attention to the desk. "Not any that hold water," he replied despondently. "Not so far. But…" he trailed off, eyes widening as he froze in place.

"But?" Graham asked.

Billy hurtled to his feet and dug out a book buried in the pile at the corner of the table. He pulled it out, not caring about the papers he dislodged with the movement, and flipped through it madly, pausing briefly to consult Eifmann's original slip of paper and the fifth page of notes he'd made that day. His lips moved silently as he quickly scanned the words.

Then a long slow smile began to grow.

"But?" Graham asked again, his curiosity growing as he was more and more sure that his friend had uncovered something important.

Reaching into the waste paper basket beside him, Billy retrieved a crumpled up sheet of paper mottled with coffee stains and smoothed it out on the desk as he picked up his pen once more.

"But?" Graham asked one more time, but soon realized that he wasn't going to get an answer. Katagiri was in that zone and he knew from experience that nothing less than the battle stations alarm would rouse him now.

So, with a long sigh, he walked away to let Katagiri do this thing, returning at several hour long intervals to slide a fresh cup of coffee or half a sandwich (corned beef on rye with extra mustard, and when the man didn't even bat an eye at the extra helping of the pungent condiment, he knew that this was truly a Big Deal).

Graham resigned himself to getting the full explanation (much fuller than he'd ever need, certainly) once his friend had finally figured everything out, and had to turn his attention to not letting himself get riled up by the inactivity as they waited for someone to sight a Gundam somewhere in their hemisphere so they could scramble.

He was leaning against his machine, shuffling his well worn deck of cards for another round of solitaire when he thought he caught a fleeting glimpse of a long pony tail and white coat disappearing through the hangar doorway in the middle of the afternoon, but was unable to locate him later on the grounds outside the bunker.

Graham made his way up to Katagiri's office just to check but he certainly wasn't at his customary desk, the papers having all been swept up into the semblance of a messy pile but with no scientist in sight.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Graham bounded up the stairs to check on Billy's progress with his mysterious science project. But the office was still exactly as he'd last seen it, messy and completely deserted.

He waited for a few hours, lounging in the only empty chair in the room, thinking that perhaps Billy had overslept, or decided to make an emergency run for more donuts. Or instant coffee, since the canister in his work space just had a few granules rolling against the metal bottom. But Graham didn't see him at the mess hall when he went to eat lunch, and there was still no change in the state of Katagiri's office when he checked again after his meal.

He also wasn't answering his terminal.

Graham frowned and decided that a trip to the nearby apartment complex was in order.

It wasn't until he arrived at Billy's apartment to find it locked and the spare key missing from its customary place above the door frame that he grew truly worried.

Brow furrowed, Graham rapidly pounded on the door.

There wasn't any movement inside, but he tried again. "Katagiri?" he called, voice taking on an edge. "Katagiri, open up if you're in there. It's Graham!" he shouted, even if his identity had to be glaringly obvious to his friend if he was inside.

He raised his fist to start again, briefly wondering if he needed to pull out his gun and force his way into the apartment when a light flicked on and he heard a noise on the other side of the door.

"Katagiri?" he asked, voice tight, but a bit quieter this time.

"… yes. What do you want, Graham?" came the distant call through the door.

His shoulders sagged in immediate relief before straightening ram-rod straight once more. Just because Katagiri was alive didn't mean that all was well. His voice sounded oddly strained and he didn't know yet what had prevented him from coming into the base.

"You alright in there?" he asked.

There was a slight cough. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Graham stared incredulously at the door. Katagiri hadn't missed a day of work in his life, often staying as late as he did even when there was no need. He'd even come to the lab with the flu, once, and had to be wrangled back to his dorm room by no less than three of his lab mates, all of whom started exhibiting symptoms the very next day and refused to sign the get well card Graham had brought around to everyone in the department.

"Well, you weren't at the base at all today…" he trailed off and another thought struck him as he stood dumbly on the doorstep. "Are you going to let me in?"

There was some more shuffling inside. "Um… no, I… I'm not feeling well," Katagiri seemed to finally decide on.

"Tough luck," Graham shot back. "Open the door."

"No," he replied, almost petulantly. "I'm not feeling well. Now go away, and I'll come back to base in a few days."

Graham reeled back in shock. "A few days?" he exclaimed before all of his attention honed in on getting inside the apartment, wild ideas now running through his head about his friend being taken hostage by some hostile force inside his own home. "Katagiri, open this door."

"No-"

"Open this door or I'll break it down," he threatened.

Billy balked. "You can't do that…" he gasped. "The landlord…"

"I am a highly skilled warrior, Katagiri. Just watch me," Graham growled before backing up to the other side of the hallway and lining up his stance to deliver a powerful sidekick to the doorjamb. "Last chance!" he warned.

"Fine!" Billy exclaimed quickly, hoping to avert the unnecessary carnage, and Graham eased out of his pose, planting himself solidly in front of the door to take advantage of the opening. "Fine, I'll…"

Several locks clicked and the door eased open a few inches before stopping again.

Graham immediately slipped his arm in the crack and tried pushing inside but the door wouldn't open any further than his upper arm. He realized in surprise that the chain was still latched. "What the… Open the door," he commanded.

"It is open," Billy said.

Graham blinked. "You said you were going to let me in," he said.

"No, I said I was going to open the door," Billy corrected from behind it.

"Then let me see you," Graham demanded, at this point half expecting there to be a gun held to his friend's head once he stepped into his line of sight. Graham snapped open his holster, preparing easy access to his own weapon, and positioned himself for maximum efficiency.

"You have to…" Billy began before abruptly stopping. You-"

Graham tensed, waiting for a warning or an ultimatum.

"I have to what?" he asked, grabbing his gun and flicking off the safety.

"Promise you won't…" Billy trailed off, voice strained.

"Promise I won't what?" Graham asked, trying to be ready for anything.

"Laugh," Billy said, quickly stepping into sight through the crack of the open door. He stood a few feet back, keeping himself in the shadowy light of the still dimly lit apartment. Graham peered through the slit, but even once his eyes had adjusted, it took a long moment for him to recognize what he was seeing.

Billy was in no danger from outside sources. It soon became clear that he was in no danger at all, except his clearly wounded pride. He shuffled sideways from foot to foot, looking supremely uncomfortable, and with each motion, his hair bobbed and dipped around his head.

Because his hair… well, Graham had never seen anything like it. He blinked several times until his eyes threatened to bug out of his head because Katagiri's hair had transformed from its normal silky straight ponytail to a mess of waving curls that billowed out from his head like they had taken on a life of their own.

Each strand of hair spun around in a perfect ringlet to curl around his ears, his glasses, the collar of his rumpled shirt, all the way down to his elbows.

His long bangs had been pinned back, wrestled into submission long enough to be plastered against his head but not a moment longer. Even now, they threatened to break free of their restraints, curling up so thickly in front of Katagiri's face that the man wouldn't be able to see a thing.

With each breath of movement, the entire mass shifted and waved gently around him like it was perfectly suspended in gentle ocean waves or the tranquility of low gravity.

And, perhaps the most surprising thing was that every single strand of hair had turned from Katagiri's chestnut brown to a grey so light it bordered on white.

The general style might have been reminiscent of Professor Eifmann's distinguished majesty, but on his friend, it looked absolutely ridiculous. Like he had turned into a living, breathing, bleached haystack.

Graham's face contorted violently at the sight as he valiantly tried to hold back anything resembling a laugh. Or giggle. Or guffaw, or chortle. But this was one of the harder fights he'd found himself in in his entire life and he found himself thinking it was one he'd lose.

Billy's face turned beet-red in the split second before he slammed the door shut again, leaving Graham to silently laugh in the hallway until his shoulders were heaving. Moments later, he had completely lost it, doubling over until he had to put a hand out on the floor to keep him from falling on the ground. Tears sprang to his eyes and he tried to control his laughter as Billy's voice came through the door.

"You said…!" Billy all but wailed.

It took a few moments for him to catch his breath enough to reply. "To be… to be quite fair…" Graham laughed, wiping his eyes. "You never gave me time to promise," he pointed out.

Billy's wounded silence grew longer and Graham swallowed in deep breaths, trying to contain himself. "What… hmm…" he paused. "What did you do?" he asked, hoping his voice sounded neutral and inviting.

"What The Professor gave me to work on," Billy said eventually, "was some notes for a formula he'd started."

"Yes?" Graham prompted as the silence began to grow again.

"And I figured out what he was trying to do," Billy said. "And I finished it."

Graham pressed his mouth in a thin line, asking his next question even though he was already fairly certain of the answer. "And… what kind of formula was it?"

"A… a hair formula," Billy said. "A shampoo. He always… always has such glorious hair and I…"

"What, you thought you'd field test it on yourself?"

"Yes," Billy sobbed through the door.

Graham shook his head in amusement before asking, "And it never crossed your mind that-"

"How was I supposed to know it would make it _curly_?" Billy demanded. "And _grey_?"

"I don't know," Graham replied. "I have no clue. But aren't you supposed to be the expert?"

"I can't…" Billy whispered shakily. "I can't figure out how to undo it," he admitted, and Graham stifled another laugh at the thought hat his friend might have to spend the rest of his days with such a wild and unwieldy mop of hair. He might even hack it off in favor of something more like Graham's own style rather than bear the shame.

Some traitorous part of his brain whispered that, without the aid of gravity, the shorter hair might make it even worse than this, and he tried to squash the thought before he could picture it clearly enough to send him into another peal of laughter.

"What do you mean you can't figure out how to undo it?" he asked instead.

"I mean," and Graham backed away from the door at the harshness of the tone, "that I can't figure out how to undo it! I've been staring at the formula all day but it's stopped making sense and I can't isolate the right factor and this isn't even my field of study, Graham!" he exclaimed. "I don't even know what I'm doing and what if I make it _worse_?"

Graham refrained from asking how it could possibly be worse than this.

"I don't have enough ingredients here to try to create another batch," Billy worried, and Graham could clearly picture him pacing back and forth on the other side of the door, gesturing with wide and frantic waves of his hands. "And I don't even know what to try even if I did! All my notes are still at the base and I…"

Graham settled back against the door as he listened to the tirade. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back until it hit the door with a soft _thunk_ and let his eyes close.

"Even if you don't find anything," Graham said, trying to softly reason with his friend. "It'll wear out in a couple days, right?"

"It's one of The Professor's formulas, Graham," he stressed. "It's not going to just wear off in a few days," Billy spat back.

"A few weeks, then?" Graham revised his estimate.

"If I'm lucky," Billy replied with such a dour tone that Graham had to hold back a snort.

"Well, then, in a month, you'll be fine. All back to normal," he said, hoping to wave away the concern.

"Graham…!" Billy whined like he hadn't in years, but his tone grew more serious as he continued. "Graham, I can't… I can't go around looking like this. I can't…" he barely managed to get the words out. "I can't go back to the base until I figure this out. I can't-" he bit off before he could voice his thought.

"Can't call up a certain tactical forecaster you used to know?" he hazarded, smiling at the shove at the door and the "shut up!" that quickly followed.

"I can't even leave this apartment. Do you understand what would happen if I went back to the base looking like this?"

Graham did, and the thought made him want to laugh again.

"Have you thought about asking The Professor?" he asked, trying to stay on task and sound serious.

There was silence.

"Well?" he finally asked again.

He heard mumbling from the other side of the door, but even when he bent closer to listen, Graham couldn't make out what he was saying.

"You'll have to say that again; I couldn't hear you," he said.

"I said he'd never let me live it down if he knew I'd used his formula first," Billy said.

Graham frowned. "It's not that big of a deal, I'm sure," he said.

"He'd kill me, Graham," Billy exclaimed. "There's a code among scientists! A code! I was finishing it for him and I wasn't even sure that it was right but I still used it on myself first…"

"And now you're stuck like this," Graham finished for him. "Well serves you right for breaking it, then."

"Graham!" he said, anguished.

Graham raised an eyebrow. "Katagiri, I never dreamed you would have a bigger dramatic flair than I do," he said. "If what you say about The Professor is true," he reasoned, "he seems like the sort of man who would overlook that code in this kind of situation. I bet he could sort this out in an hour. At most. And restore your dignity. No one else would ever have to know."

"Except he isn't picking up," Billy said with a groan.

"… So you have tried him, then," Graham said.

"Yes, but he rarely answers his phone when he's working," Billy said. "Won't break his concentration for anything less than…" he broke off as a thought struck him, "someone knocking on his door in person! That's it!" he exclaimed, so excited that he opened the door up a few inches and threw Graham from his resting place.

"Graham, you can just go back for me. Go ask The Professor for help! Get him to finish the formula!" He clumsily undid the chain on the door and waved Graham into his apartment as he started ransacking the paper littered floor for what he was looking for.

Graham tried not to stare at his absolute mess of hair, bobbing and waving with every slightest movement as he raced around the room and bent over end tables and chairs. In the dimly lit room, Katagiri's near-white hair seemed to light up like a beacon, shining and illuminating dark corners whenever he stepped into a sliver of sunshine streaming in through the thick curtains that had been hastily flung across each window to hide from the outside world.

Billy dove for a couple pages and bounced back up again, thrusting the papers into Graham's hands. With an effort, Graham focused his eyes away from the hair to the papers in his hands.

"Here," Billy was saying. "You take these and show them to The Professor. Ask him for help, ask him… beg him to call me back."

Graham straightened up. "Now wait just a minute," he began. He didn't intend to beg for anything in his life, let alone for a friend's hair mishaps.

But Billy continued on like he hadn't even spoken. "And he'll make it okay. He'll make everything okay," he said in near awe as he convinced himself that salvation was at hand. "You're saving me, Graham. You're… yes, saving me…

"Graham," he said, turning to grasp both of his shoulders and staring at him like his only lifeline.

Graham clenched his jaw and refused to look at the frazzled strands of Katagiri's bangs, slipping out of the industrial strength bobby pins and curling around to frame his face.

"Once you get the formula from him, you call me. And then I'll tell you what to pick up for the antidote."

"Antidote?" Graham snorted. "This isn't a poison."

"And as soon as you get back, I can…"

"Wait," Graham said. "You're saying you can make the stuff here? In your apartment?"

Billy spun around to take stock of his surroundings. "Yes, yes, I have some makeshift equipment here… and the stove… so as long as you bring the ingredients…" he said, bending down to pick something off the floor.

Graham watched warily as he grabbed tubes and bottles from around the room and moved to put them on the kitchen counter. It wasn't hard to see the man as some kind of mad scientist in this sort of state, and he didn't imagine that experiments conduced in such a frame of mind would end well.

"Alright, alright," Graham said, hoping to stave off any premature rashness. "Let me go, then, and I'll go see The Professor."

"Yes, yes," Billy said, running to the door and opening it for him, making sure to stay carefully out of sight behind it, safe from the eyes of any casual passers-by. "You do that," he nodded firmly, and his hair energetically followed. "And please… hurry."

Graham walked out the door and quickly made his way down the hallway and out of the building. He made sure he got into his vehicle and closed the door behind him before allowing himself to break down into more howling fits of laughter, laughing harder than he'd ever laughed in his entire life because Katagiri was never ever _ever_ going to be able to live this one down.


	3. Chapter 3

Graham made his way up to the office but hesitated once he stopped outside the door. Eventually he knocked.

Nothing.

He sighed, knocking again, louder this time.

A surprised sound filtered through the door, followed by a, "Just a moment."

The door opened a few moments later and Graham found himself face to face with the long, imposing form of Professor Eifmann.

"Sir," he began. "Professor," he amended immediately.

One of the man's slender white eyebrows rose eloquently. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

Graham licked his lips. "Might I have a moment of your time?"

The Professor nodded and swung the door wide to let Graham into his office. His lair, Katagiri might have said in awe, although it didn't look too different from any other occupied office on the base.

Several monitors and a state of the art computer took up the bulk of one table and another against the wall was filled with numerous pieces of scientific equipment he didn't know the uses for. Next to them was a microscope and a twisted scrap of metal that Graham guessed was the piece they had managed to secure off a Gundam. There also appeared to be some sort of glorified freestanding oversized toaster-oven in the corner.

All in all, much cleaner than Katagiri's workstation.

Eifmann waved him to a seat, peering out into the hallway in surprise as he realized the Captain was alone.

"It's not often I have the pleasure of your company," he remarked as he crossed the room to join him.

Graham nodded, trying not to be self conscious about the fact. He didn't think he'd ever been in a room with the man without Katagiri there as well. Never really interacted with him directly, either, mostly sitting off to the side of the hallway waiting for Billy to finish his business there and ask the last of his seemingly endless list of questions so they could get going again.

"Where is Billy?" The Professor asked.

Graham sat up straighter at the opening. "Actually, I've come here on his behalf."

"Hmm, I thought as much." He laid his cane against his desk and spun around in his chair to face Graham straight on.

"Yes," Graham said stiffly. "He was… working on the formula you gave him," he explained. "And he finished it."

"Already? I'm impressed," The Professor said. "I do hope it's better than my last attempt," he mused, although from looking at his effortlessly curled hairstyle, Graham couldn't detect any reason to think that his hair was in need of anything beyond what he currently had on hand.

"I'm… fairly certain it is," Graham finally replied.

"Oh?" Eifmann asked, looking up again and staring closely at Graham. "How are you so certain?"

"He…" Graham cleared his throat, hoping that he wasn't about to get his friend into as much trouble as the man had feared over the code between scientists. "He's used it."

There was a beat of utter silence.

"Did he now," The Professor asked, hands templing to press against his mouth.

Graham nodded slowly, still trying to read the gravity of the situation when he realized the man was desperately trying to hide a smile.

"And you've seen the results?" Professor Eifmann asked.

"Yes," Graham confirmed, starting to relax a little more in his chair.

"And… may I take it that this is the reason for Billy's absence on the base today?"

"You may, Sir."

Eifmann nodded to himself, leaning back in his chair. "And the reason for your visit…?" he inquired.

"He can't figure out how to undo it, Sir," he admitted.

Eifmann chuckled. "And he wants me to figure out the solution, does he?"

Graham sighed in relief. "That was his hope, yes."

"I see," he replied, playing with the head of his cane. Eventually, he pushed up from his desk and went to face the window. "I am afraid that I am unable to assist in the matter," he finally said.

Graham was sure he'd heard incorrectly.

"Sir!" he protested.

The Professor turned so that his profile was silhouetted against the light streaming in from the window. "The reason I entrusted the formula to Billy in the first place was because I am fully occupied, discovering the secrets of the Gundams. Surely, you of all people understand that I am unable to deviate course simply for the sake of one man's hair mishaps. He will need to figure it out on his own," he said.

"But he can't!" Graham exclaimed, knowing that he couldn't possibly go back to his friend with no for an answer.

Eifmann smiled, then. "He's only been at it one night," he returned, gently. "It took him several days to understand and formulate the original. But given a little time, I have faith that he can put it to rights. The hardship, of course," he continued, voice taking on a different tone, "is being separated from his research materials. He should return to the base where he has access to his notes," he decided, twirling the head of his cane.

"He asked that I take the notes to him," Graham said.

Eifmann turned sharply at that. "I'm afraid," he said, "that we are unable to spare our Captain from the base at such a time."

Graham bolted upright, wondering if he had missed something vastly important in the few hours while he had been off base. "At such a…" he repeated, wide-eyed. "Sir, has there been Gundam activity?"

"No," Professor Eifmann replied carefully, pursing his lips. "But you never know when they might appear. And it wouldn't do for us to be caught unawares with our Ace not standing by."

Graham blinked. Then smiled. "No, it would not, Sir," he agreed.

"Well, then," The Professor decided. "There's only one thing for it. Billy will need to return to base to find the solution. You should call to let him know."

"Yes, Sir," Graham replied, already pulling his terminal out of his pocket.

Billy picked up on the first ring, but didn't establish a visual connection from his end.

"Katagiri?"

"Graham," Billy began desperately. "Graham, did you see him?"

"Yes, I-"

"What did he say? Can he do it? Does he know what to change? What I did wrong? Graham… Graham…!"

Graham shook his head, unable to talk over his friend when he refused to so much as breathe. "Katagiri, calm down," he said.

There was heavy breathing from the other side of his black screen.

"He said he can't fix it for you," Graham eventually said.

"…what?" Billy asked, voice hoarse.

"He can't spare the time from his research," Graham explained.

"But…"

"Katagiri," Graham said seriously, "he's the only one researching the Gundam's special particle emissions. He can't just stop."

"But…" he said, much weaker this time.

"He says he has faith in you," Graham continued, "he knows you'll figure out what's wrong."

"No," Billy breathed. "No, I-"

Graham fought not to let his expression slip. "He said he had faith in you," he said again, brightly.

"No," Billy protested again, "I don't know what…" he feebly explained. "Graham, you have to tell him. You have to ask him again, I…"

"He said that once you get back to base with all your equipment, you'll see what to change."

He tried not to laugh at the horrified pause that followed.

"Come… back…"

"To the base," Graham supplied easily, "Yes. Where your equipment and notes are."

"You…" Billy sounded like he was about to fall over. "You were… You were going to bring the equipment and notes back to me."

Graham made a pained face. "I can't leave the base, Katagiri," he explained.

"You… what do you mean you can't leave the base? You have to leave the base! You have to come back and bring everything," Billy cried.

"I can't," Graham repeated slowly. "Unless you've forgotten that this is a military base and I am not always my own man?"

"No, no of course…" Billy said. "But…"

"You'll just have to come back as soon as possible to get this figured out."

"I…"

"But don't worry, Katagiri," Graham assured him. "I'll tell everyone to leave you alone so you can figure everything out in peace and quiet."

"Wait, no, don't tell-"

"So I'll see you soon. Don't worry, Katagiri," he said again, "it will all turn out alright. You'll see."

"Graham-!"

But Graham ended the call a split second before he lost his composure completely, breaking down in silent laughter. He ran the back of his hand across his eyes and finally returned the terminal to his pocket.

Eifmann looked over at him from the window, a broad smile across his face.

"That was well done," he said.

"Thank you, Sir," Graham said with a nod of his head. "I'll keep you informed."

"I would be wounded if you didn't," he replied.

Graham suppressed a grin. "Sir," he said, standing and saluting.

At the man's nod, Graham turned back to the door.

"And Graham?" The Professor's voice called him back.

He turned and waited.

"Your terminal has a photographic feature on the back, doesn't it?"

"… yes?"

Professor Eifmann nodded slowly to himself and turned back to the window. "Good," he murmured.


	4. Chapter 4

Billy arrived back at the base in the early morning hours, wearing a dark colored sweatshirt, the hood pulled low over his face. That in itself was bizarre enough to turn the heads of anyone who caught a passing glimpse of him without Graham having to say a word.

He vanished through the halls and up to his landing so quickly that no one was able to stop and question his odd attire or his absence the day before.

More than one person sought out Graham for answers about his friend's strange behavior. Like the loyally steadfast friend he was, he didn't tell them anything. Much. At least, he didn't have time to explain the situation before he got a call on his terminal.

Graham stood so he could pull it from his pocket and held up a finger to stave off the curious bystanders.

"Graham Aker," he answered, lips twitching, as if he didn't already know full well who was calling him from upstairs.

"Get up here," Billy hissed at him from an audio only connection, and Graham could picture him dodging glances around the door as he spoke. "Now."

"I'll be right there," he replied before terminating the call and turning to his companions with a grin. "My apologies, gentlemen, but duty calls," he said loftily as he sidestepped them and made his way upstairs to the office where Billy was anxiously waiting for him.

"Hello, Katagiri," he said with a miraculously straight face as he closed the door behind him. "You made it," he remarked. "I was getting worried."

Billy peered up at him from beneath his hood.

"Why don't you take that off?" Graham offered with a magnanimous wave of his arm toward the work table. "It must be hard to concentrate while wearing such confining clothing."

Billy glanced at his tightly fitted army jacket and Graham grimaced at his poor choice of words before smiling broadly at his friend. Billy eyed him warily but eventually put down his hood, slowly pushing the fabric back to reveal hair pulled back into a low ponytail by multiple hair ties. His shorter bangs were slicked back with what appeared to be half an inch of hair gel and pinned back flat against his scalp with a row of oversized bobby pins.

Too many strands were flying loose already, however, curling up in front of Billy's eyes, and he frantically brushed them back as they nestled in the space between his glasses and his face.

"I am going to kill something, Graham," he muttered wildly, "Kill something-"

"Calm down," Graham said. "If you do, everyone at the court martial will see you like this," he pointed out cheerfully. "And I don't think you're quite ready to commit mass murder to eliminate every witness."

"You can come in on your Flag and do it for me," Billy retorted, teeth clenched.

"Ah," Graham sounded surprised. "So I'm not the one you're planning on murdering? That's good to know." He paused thoughtfully before tentatively gesturing to his face, "You, uh, have a stray hair over…"

Billy glared at him as menacingly as he could manage. "I'm not above changing my mind," he ground out.

"Also good to know." Graham cleared his throat. "So, you brought your notes?" he asked, looking around.

Nodding, Billy waved vaguely at his table which looked, once again, like a hurricane had passed over it.

"Alright then," Graham began. "Time to figure out how to fix this."

"Except I don't know where to start," Billy said, looking lost. "I don't…"

"Well, just… sit down," Graham said, pulling out the chair and removing the pile of papers on it to the floor, "and start where you started last time."

"The Professor gave me the start last time!" Billy protested. "But he's still not answering his phone. Or his door. He's even put up a 'Do Not Disturb' sign outside his office door, Graham!" he exclaimed, drawing his hands down his face. "I know he's in there but he won't talk to me."

Graham tried to look sympathetic. "Well, he is a very busy man," he said rationally. "He might be close to a breakthrough with the particles! Disruptions to his work could be disastrous right now," he pointed out.

"But…" Billy said miserably, "But _this_ is disastrous."

He dropped his head into his hands.

Graham pressed his lips together, attempting to look like he was taking this seriously. "You've got a full formula, right?" he reasoned. "This time, you actually have something that you know works." He coughed a little. "Extremely well."

Billy stared daggers at him through his fingers.

"You just have to figure out what part makes it curly, right?" Graham asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the side of the table. "And… gray."

Billy made a pained noise in the back of his throat but finally nodded.

"So, you're actually better off now than you were before," Graham said brightly.

"I…" Billy tried, at a loss for words.

"So sit down and start looking," Graham advised, grabbing a textbook at random from the pile on the table and setting it in front of his friend. "I'll just be over here standing guard," he said, motioning toward the door.

Billy turned distractedly at that. "Standing guard?" he asked, forehead crinkling.

"I won't pretend to understand anything on that table of yours," Graham shrugged, "so the only thing I'm good for up here is keeping curious onlookers from wandering up here before you're… ready to entertain."

Billy's face completely drained, and he wavered a little in his seat until he clutched the edge of the table to steady himself. "You…" he cleared his throat. "You keep them out," he warned, voice and finger both shaking. "Keep them out, do you hear me?"

Graham threw his hands up in the air in mock surrender, too amused to be offended at the scientist's lack of faith in him. "I understand," he said, lending gravitas to his reply as he stood up to his full height. "And my assessment of the situation is that you will have nothing to fear."

There was a knock on the door.

"… Until someone wants to come in," he amended.

"Graham!" Billy squeaked, diving for the hoodie slung over the back of his chair, trying to wrangle it over his head for cover.

"Who is it?" Graham cheerily called through the door.

"It's Daryl," the man rumbled from the hallway.

Graham grinned at the door before turning back to a frantically waving Billy. "Daryl," he called genially, "What can I do for you?"

There was a shuffling on the other side of the door. "You could… open the door, Captain," Daryl said, trying the knob to no avail. "You disappeared so suddenly and we all thought- What's going on in there, anyway?"

Billy hissed to get Graham's attention and made a series of cutting motions across his throat.

"Just… science," Graham replied loudly. "Very important…" he fumbled over a laugh and tried to cover it with a cough, "science. But I'm afraid I can't let you in," he added as Billy started waving his hands again. "We're in the very delicate stages of the process, at the moment, and any disruptions or outside interference could be disastrous."

Daryl took a long moment to process that. "… If you're sure, Captain."

"Quite sure," he replied. "I'll keep you informed, but for the present, consider this room on lockdown."

"Alright," the Master Sergeant said slowly before walking away.

"There," Graham said, turning to Billy once the threat had gone and he'd escaped from the confines of the sweatshirt. "You see? Nothing to worry about. No one will get past me while I'm on guard," Graham vowed.

Billy still stared at the door mistrustfully, but finally gave a short nod and chewed his lip as he turned to the overwhelming array of information available to him on the table, wondering where to start.

Within the hour he was so engrossed in his work that he had forgotten Graham was there at all, and didn't even seem to register any movement when the man took out his terminal to pass the time.


	5. Chapter 5

Graham wasn't at all sure how much progress Katagiri was making as the hours ticked by. But he imagined that it wasn't going as dreadfully as his friend had predicted. At least, after nearly a full hour of moaning and groaning that Graham was lucky enough to record several segments of—complete with audio— he had mostly quieted down.

He'd become engrossed in one large textbook in particular, leafing through it slowly and methodically as he took in entire chapters of information at a time, occasionally stopping to write in the notebook at his elbow. The pages slowly became filled with writing that was not nearly as frantic as that he'd employed in the preceding days.

Graham had made quick work of getting his photographic evidence of Katagiri's state. His terminal's photo gallery- usually largely empty, except for pictures of the various new systems and features on mobile suits he came across and wanted to bug the engineer about later- had already quintupled in size.

He'd given himself a nice buffer, and could afford to wait a bit until he got a better angle, or the humidity started counteracting the effects of the hair gel. So Graham sat, scrolling back through to find the best shots, the ones worthy of the faith The Professor had placed in him.

He was momentarily distracted by a rush of page flipping, but Katagiri let out a huff of disappointment a minute later, apparently not finding what he'd been hoping for.

All the better for picture taking, then.

Katagiri was settling back down to his reading when there was a knock at the door that made him bolt upright and turn in terror toward Graham, who held out a placating hand before moving to see who it was.

"Captain?" Daryl's voice came through, but he made no attempt to jiggle the handle this time, to Billy's intense relief.

"Yes, I'm here," Graham returned smoothly.

"I, uh…" the man stopped, and didn't seem to know how to continue.

Graham frowned. If it had been official orders, there would have been no question about what to say, which meant that it couldn't be military maneuvers or a Gundam sighting, but, then— "What is it?" he asked.

"There's… a man downstairs," Daryl finally settled on. "Who wants to see Katagiri."

Graham turned to see Katagiri's face blanch in his seat. Graham was already shaking his head, preempting the request, although his fellow officer was unable to see the motion.

"Katagiri is still indisposed, I'm afraid," he replied.

"I understand," Daryl said. "And I told him that, but apparently he had orders not to hand off to anyone but you or Katagiri."

Graham raised his eyebrows in surprise at this, wondering who the man was or what he could want with one or either of the two of them. What he could possibly need to "hand off."

"So I thought you should know…" Daryl finished.

"Of course," Graham answered, still trying to figure out what was happening. The gears raced in his mind, but he was unable to come up with any ideas that seemed to make sense. He and Katagiri didn't really have mutual friends outside of the base—certainly no one who would come there in person without trying to contact them first— and to his knowledge, there was nothing that anyone could want to give to an engineer or one of the Union's mobile suit pilots. "Do you know who the man was? What did he want?"

"I don't know who he was, Captain. But he said he had a delivery, and that he would only sign off to one of you."

That information didn't enlighten Graham in the slightest, but it seemed to mean a great deal to Katagiri, who sat up straight in excitement, face blooming into an expression of relief and joy so great that it heightened Graham's fears instead of assuaging him.

"Katagiri?" he asked, warily, clearly worried about what the man could possibly be delivering.

"Yes," Billy said, breathlessly, "Yes, good, he's here. I was- I've been expecting him, and- yes, yes, you need to go sign for it!" he exclaimed.

Graham's brow furrowed. "Sign for what, exactly?"

"Just go get it," Billy said, rising out of his chair in his excitement. "I've been waiting- this will-yes."

Graham stared at him. "This will… what?" he couldn't help but ask, not wanting to get in over his head in any schemes his harebrained friend had managed to get himself into in this state of emotion distress.

Billy waved his hands quickly, impatiently, trying to assuage Graham's fears. "No no no, it's nothing bad. You just have to go get it because I can't but it will help!"

Sighing, Graham realized that he didn't have much of a choice. "Alright," he said, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I'll go get your… mysterious package."

"Thank you," Billy said, pushing up from his chair and wringing his hands together in an effort to keep them from flapping everywhere in his newfound excitement. "Thank you-"

Graham gave him a final look as he paused outside the door. Katagiri was worrying his lip, and trying not to bounce from foot to foot, so whatever this was, Graham felt confident that, if nothing else, it would certainly be interesting to see.

Unlocking the door, he cracked it open slowly, giving Katagiri time to bob out of the line of sight before he slipped through the door to join Daryl.

The Master Sergeant blinked at him for a few seconds as the lock audibly clicked back into place behind them, then began leading the trek to the loading dock, which was surprisingly—thankfully—empty of the usual military personnel.

The man waiting there visibly brightened when he saw Daryl again.

"Are you… William Katigiri?" he asked before they'd come to a stop next to the crate he'd unloaded from his truck.

Graham blinked at it for a moment before answering. "No," he said slowly, before fully turning his attention to the man. "Captain Graham Aker at your service."

"Perfect," he man replied. "That will do. Had to be you or William, according to my instructions. The guy on the phone was really insistent. Paid a boatload extra to get this lot expedited, and make sure that I would only hand it off to the right person. But here you are!" he exclaimed brightly, pulling out his terminal and turning it around for Graham to sign. "The right person!"

"I suppose so," Graham asked, as he slid his finger across the screen. "May I ask what all of this is?"

The man looked up at him and shrugged. "I have no clue. I get the weird one-off shipments of low quantities, the stuff that it doesn't pay to send a full semi out with," he said, and Graham was relieved that Katagiri at least hadn't bought a full truck's worth of whatever this was.

"Thank you," Graham said to the driver, who headed back to his truck and took off, leaving the crate behind him.

Graham stood pondering the large wooden box for a while, Daryl standing at his side.

"What do you think it is?" Daryl asked.

"No idea," Graham replied immediately. "But we'd better figure out a way to get it out of here before someone else asks that."

Daryl nodded and went searching for an automated dolly, hoping that there would be one laying around that they could steal for a few minutes without having to resort to one of the forklifts, which were obnoxiously loud, and would never get upstairs.

Thankfully, there was a dolly inside the loading dock door, and between the two of them, they loaded the crate onto it, glad that it wasn't nearly as heavy as it looked from size alone, and then wheeled it to the closest elevator, hoping that no one would catch them in areas that active personnel normally weren't allowed.

No one stopped them, though, and they were able to get the dolly to the last flight of stairs below Katagiri's office without incident. They carried it up, held a bit awkwardly between them, and dropped it on the landing in relief.

Then Daryl left to return the dolly while Graham rapped on the door with the back of his hand.

"Katagiri?" he called, "I'm back. And I have a delivery for you-"

He'd expected to stand outside for a while, until Katagiri confirmed that it was truly him and he was alone at the top of the stairs, but the door flew open almost immediately, wide enough for a large box to be shoved through. Graham dutifully obliged, pushing the crate into the room where Billy immediately closed the door behind them.

Billy all but ran back to the box, and began prying it open with a crowbar he'd apparently had waiting for such an occasion.

Graham stood back to let him do his work.

A few minutes later, Billy was unpacking a long flat box from the packing paper filling up the majority of the crate space. It was unmarked, so Graham still had no idea what was inside it until, with a flurry of tape cutting, a long, thin, corded machine appeared in Katagiri's hands.

Katagiri discarded the box and left the manual to fall to the floor—a sure sign of trouble to come, Graham knew— as he cleared space in front of an outlet and plugged in the device which lit up red.

It wasn't until Graham skirted around the crate and picked up the fallen booklet that he understood what the thing was. A hair straightener. A professional, high-grade flat iron, complete with five year warranty.

He stared up at his friend in shock, but Billy was already pulling pins out of his hair and tossing them carelessly on top of the table beside him as the flat iron warmed up. He'd barely waited a minute before picking it up and starting to run long strands of hair through the padded prongs. It didn't seem to do much at all for the first few minutes, and Billy ran it through his hair at increasing speeds, desperate for it to work.

Graham followed his movements apprehensively.

"Are… you sure that's how that works?" Graham asked, hesitant to say anything but also not wanting Katagiri to tear the place down in rage when he didn't get the results he expected.

Billy's head jerked up and he stared at him, wild eyed. "What do you mean?" he asked, voice strained.

"I mean…" Graham tried to gauge his words carefully. "I just wondered… if you were using it correctly." Katagiri's glare was so fierce that Graham tried to back peddle. "I don't have much experience in the use of… hair straighteners," he explained. "Perhaps you should look at the manual…?" he suggested in what he hoped was a calm manner.

"Are you the one with long hair?" Billy snapped.

Graham quickly backed away and tried to deescalate further. "No," he admitted. "I was just trying to be helpful."

"… don't need the manual," Billy muttered. "Just need this… stupid thing to work like it's supposed to," he ground out as he made another pass.

But he did slow down his movements after that, making them less quick and jerky. He pulled the flat iron down each separated strand of hair slowly, trying to get the heat to permeate through the now-quickly melting hair gel. It came off on his fingers goopy and sticky and absolutely disgusting. He didn't seem to mind so much, though—wiping off the worst of it onto an empty page in his notebook for lack of any stray napkins— now that he saw evidence that he must be making some kind of progress.

He slowed the passage of the device further, and Graham was grateful for the opportunity to get another round of pictures without Katagiri's blurry hands getting in the way.

Billy eventually settled into a routine, perched on the end of his chair with his hair in various stages of stiffness and straightness as it fell around him.

It was, without doubt, the strangest scene Graham had ever witnessed in his long and varied life. The bulk of the silver hair bushed out from Katagiri's head, frozen with long-dried hair gel and crimped in strange directions from the attempts to contain them with bobby pins.

Now that it was free from the pins, the hair stuck out in increasingly strange angles, with frozen curls and slicked strands poking out moving in formation whenever Katagiri turned his head the slightest amount. Even given the strangeness of the frozen white haystack hair as a whole, the most incredible looking part of the entire thing were the bangs, which usually framed his face in their choppy layers but now curled up more tightly than anything else.

Graham actually lost sight of Katagiri's eyes beneath the intense curls that now collected between his glasses frames and his face.

Billy seemed to realize that it would be prudent to tackle those before going any further, and he placed his glasses safely on the table before blindly grabbing the unruly frizzled curls in front of his face. It was hard to pull them out far enough to even fit the flat iron between his forehead and fingers without burning either one, but with enough quick switches and frantic finagling, he figured out how he could make it work.

After a period of pressing and dragging and pulling and cursing, Katagiri was left with a fringe of hair that was slightly damp and sticky, and that fell heavily over his eyes and couldn't easily be brushed aside and trusted to stay there, but was, at least, straight.

It was the small victories that counted.

He moved back to the rest of his hair, then, flipping his hair over his shoulders as best he could, and separating out the strands to tackle first. Pulling them taut, he pulled the flat iron across the light mess of hair as methodically as he could, slowly moving from his temple to his fingers, forcibly pressing the hair into its once-natural shape.

It was an excruciatingly long process, especially as Billy had to stop frequently to brush the still wild bushy hair out of the strands he was working on at the time— to little avail, as the strength of The Professor's formula still showed no signs of abating on its own.

Graham did find his pictures of Katagiri with a head of hair that was half curly and half straight well worth the wait.

He had been lounging in a seat in front of the door, acting as a secondary door stopper should anyone somehow happen to make it through the lock, but as he waited for the next good photo-taking opportunity, he turned and stretched his legs, making several leisurely laps around the confined office space.

Graham was peering down to get a better look at the textbooks deemed useless and piled in the corner of the room when he realized something was off. His brow furrowed as he tried to place the strange odor, then realized exactly what it was when, a moment later, it turned sharp and pungent and overwhelming. The gag-worthy acrid smell of burning hair and chemicals.

It only took a second for him to realize what must have happened and he spun around in alarm. "Katagiri!" he yelled. "Your hair!"

Billy would have dropped the hair straightener in surprise had it not been firmly clamped around a long strand of his hair he'd pulled around from the back of his head. A quick glance down and he realized that that was the problem- that he had left it too long in the same place, and that instead of gently heating the hair, it had started to burn.

With a yelp, he scrabbled at the device, fingers trying to pry it apart to free his hair. Graham rushed forward too, thinking to assist, but Billy swatted his hands away until he retreated a safe distance. Realizing there was nothing he could do to help, he whipped out his terminal once more, fingers flying across the screen.

"I got it!" Billy cried as he wrenched the flat iron away and let it clatter to the floor. Graham winced at the noise, but from his quick glance, was fairly certain it hadn't broken.

"I-" Billy said, not seemingly likely to say anything more as he stood in disarray, chest heaving, and staring in horror at the floor and then at Graham.

His hands trembled as he finally raised the hair for examination, terrified that he might have burnt it beyond recognition or salvaging. The few inches near the end were definitely shriveled away to almost nothing, but Billy decided that he could make the sacrifice to trim those off, and the rest of his hair was still intact.

He sighed in relief before leaning down to pick up the flat iron again.

Graham ran a hand through his hair and let out a shaky laugh.

"I… am going to get food, I think," he said, suddenly unable to stand the thought of being stuck in this tiny room full of the smell of melted hair products and burning hair, no matter how good the photo ops might be in the next half hour.

When Billy vaguely murmured his acknowledgement, Graham made good on his escape.


End file.
